“And all I feel in my stomach is butterflies,

the beautiful kind, making up for lost time, 

taking flight, making me feel like…”

-Taylor Swift, “Everything Has Changed”

...

“Oh, its funny how the warning signs

can feel like the butterflies.” 

-Halsey, “Graveyard”

When the word butterfly is uttered, the image that most likely floats into your mind is a pretty insect with wings of vibrant hues powdered like a lady’s face. Butterflies are a symbol of change, of metamorphosis, of beauty. However, the same can’t always be said of the corresponding sensation. How can one umbrella term define an emotion that is the marriage of anxiety and happiness? How can we make peace with the (imaginary) flighty parasites that bring us such unrest?

Fight or flight; something that we have been taught since we were young. It is our most basic response to your average scenario that sets your toes tapping and your breath rushing. However, when fight or flight takes hold, it not only causes your heart to race but your blood to be shunted to your heart and legs. In the process, your sympathetic nervous system makes some sacrifices-- the most relevant of these being the lack of blood flow to your stomach and intestines. It is this sudden drop of blood flow that causes the sensation of butterflies. How powerful must an emotion be for it to cause such an extreme, even dangerous, physical reaction?

I have had my fair share of experiences with butterflies. It starts with the spread of their dazzling wings, the quiet lift-off in the pit of your belly. They then gain speed, a tornado of soft bodies rising into your chest, tickling your throat. Butterflies make their presence known when I’m about to board an airplane, when I’m preparing to dive off the block at a swim meet, or when I drove on IH-35 for the first time. When my choir and I are about to take the stage. When my crush smiles. They make me unable to eat, sleep, or think straight. 

The beautiful part of butterflies is the warmth. They light a fire in your torso, the light of which shines out in a smile. Their wings are pale pink rose petals, a warm breeze on a summer day. Butterflies can also be sickly, making you nauseous. These butterflies have holes in their spindly bodies, infected and festering. Their wings are crafted from dull steel, creaking with every sinister flap. These butterflies leap into the air when my parents fight at night, or when I’m about to take a test. They are simultaneously the build up of a rollercoaster and the sudden drop that sends your stomach careening towards your throat. They knot your intestines with worry, filling your belly with lumps of metal, making food turn to dust in your mouth. Wouldn’t we be better off without this less than pleasant experience?

Are butterflies universal? Are they experienced the same way by all? Are some people more prone to butterflies than others? To some are they black and white as opposed to the muddled gray area I described; are they solely experienced in moments of negative emotion versus exclusively moments of positive emotion? The word itself, as well as the insect, inspires images soft and blurry around the edges with innocence. Does this automatic association of the word with the idea of purity create a preconceived notion? Is this judgement accurate?

I wonder if a child experiencing butterflies for the first time would instinctively shrink back from it, processing it as a bad feeling. Or perhaps they would enjoy it, marveling at the subtle heat the emotion offers? Would they wonder why it is that this feeling was named after butterflies when a slew of other animals are at one's disposal? What is it about the idea of a butterfly that fits well enough to be the logical comparison?

Butterflies are a feeling to be treasured. They may not always be the most comfortable or convenient sensation, but personally I feel my most alive when I have those little creatures flitting about in the back of my mind. They remind you that there is something coming, something around the corner. Whether it is something you dread or look forward to is irrelevant-- what matters is that this moment is not all you have. The butterflies inside you live for a purpose that exists separately from now-- they live for the future. They are hope, they embody anxiety, they represent anticipation, they show excitement, they are dread. I would rather accept each of these whirlwind emotions with open arms than live with no care for what comes next.